


build a home inside your battered heart

by euphemea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cats, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Gronder, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: In his mind, Felix sees Cat back away, the same misgivings buried behind his eyes.Five years of misery. Five years of suffering, alone. Dimitri has never spoken of what happened during that time. Felix searched and searched andsearched, but nothing ever came of it.He should have been there from the beginning.Felix meets a cat and then meets his king.Written for theDimilix Anthology Community Zine.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	build a home inside your battered heart

Felix crouches, dangling the jerky he saved from dinner.

The bush rustles in response, and the sharp, amber eyes of a Fraldarius Wirehair peer out at him. Cat the cat steps forward, cautious, one paw at a time. His ear twitches and his tail swishes behind. He scrunches his nose as he smells the meat—but at the last moment, Cat backs away, hissing under his breath.

Felix sighs. Like every night before, Cat has failed to recognize him and retreated. His stomach will win eventually, but for now, fear reigns, clouding his every move.

Cat is not wrong to be wary—most of his left ear is gone, he walks with a limp, and his tail is twisted as though it broke and never healed right. The war hasn’t been easy. Cat is no longer a kitten romping through the monastery, carefree and begging the students for scraps. No—he’s guarded, even with humans he used to know so well. Cat’s trust in humans is another victim of the hard years brought by bloodshed.

Felix breathes deeply, forcing the tension to seep out through the tips of his fingers, and he holds his hand out, relaxed and open. He shifts the jerky to the center of his palm. An unassuming offering.

Felix will overcome Cat’s wariness. One day. No matter how many times it may take for Cat to trust him.

Like always, the lure of the treat is too much for Cat. After a quiet minute, he shuffles forward and butts his head against Felix’s fingers, friendly but demanding, and pulls the jerky away. Felix offers Cat a gentle scratch behind his good ear, little more than a perfunctory greeting, and leaves him to eat in peace. It’s enough to have Cat’s company.

The monastery is silent around them as dusk falls, the cool, night air settling in. Felix tilts his head to gaze up at the stars as they blink into existence, their greetings faint as they shimmer against the endless, dark sky. It is said that every star holds the spirit of a warrior fallen in battle. Their pyres are the rites to their ascent into the heavens. Those that shine brightest were the most brave and true.

Since the Tragedy of Duscur, Felix has hated the old Faerghan legend. It’s trite, fantastical nonsense, filled with the wishful thinking of those who worship the dead. Felix navigates by the stars if he must, but he does not look for spirits above.

But in the days and weeks since Gronder, he finds himself counting and recounting the stars. Recalling their names. Searching for the birth of anything new.

His father isn’t among them, nor is Glenn, because there is no way that they can be, but the hope that they might watch from among the heavens and give light to his sword blossoms under his ribs. It’s a stupid wish. Felix curses his own heart, but he prays anyway. He needs the strength to surpass them now more than ever. He cannot, will not, let their deaths be in vain.

Cat yowls plaintively, cutting into the fog of Felix’s thoughts. He stares at Felix, assessing and demanding, and sniffs at Felix’s hands before meowing again.

Felix huffs even as he holds up his hands apologetically. “No more tonight. You’ll have to wait for next time.”

Cat stares at Felix, considering, weighing the truth of Felix’s statement. Too bad Felix really doesn’t have any more jerky. Felix sighs and runs his hand through Cat’s fur, careful not to frighten him, and Cat flops onto the ground, wriggling away. Dramatic little shit.

It takes a little more than a minute of easy petting for Cat to relax into Felix’s touch, for him to forget the transgression of insufficient treats and to find faith in the human who feeds him, but he eventually does, and he presses his good ear along Felix’s leg, purring, content. The gentle rumble brings a faint smile to Felix’s face. He doesn’t bother to school it away.

All too soon, their peace is broken by the sound of rhythmic, metallic clanking, familiar and unwelcome. Felix scowls into the darkness. Cat jumps to his feet and scurries away before Felix can stop him. The pleasant portion of Felix’s evening is over.

“What do you want?” Felix says, standing. He doesn’t bother to turn around. Dimitri can say what he needs, and then he’s welcome to leave. Unfortunately, knowing Dimitri, he’ll say it in the most falsely sincere way, somber and steady. Or with a barely-hidden undercurrent of rage threatening to bury the entire army alive. Felix can never tell which he’ll face these days. Both make him seethe and his gut roil.

“Ah, Felix. I was hoping I might find you.” Saccharine and sincere Dimitri. Felix almost exhales in relief, but he catches himself.

“Yes. You found me. As I said: what do you want?”

There’s a shuffling noise. He waits for Dimitri to continue, but silence hangs in the air, uncomfortable and cloying, itching against Felix’s skin. Felix grunts and turns to see Dimitri with a hand hesitantly outstretched. He narrows his eyes and Dimitri quickly drops it to his side, clearing his throat.

“Ah. My apologies.”

More silence.

“Get on with it, bo—.” Felix catches himself and clears his throat. “No, Dimitri. Just say what you have to. Dimitri.” He does not mean to repeat Dimitri’s name, but it sits, heavy, on his tongue. The weight won’t leave. He grits his teeth and forces out the rest of his words. “Don’t waste my time. I have no need for senseless apologies. Dimitri.”

The third repetition makes the taste less acrid, but its shape is still foreign after years of disuse. Felix grimaces.

“Ah… Right.” Dimitri straightens slightly. Like this, he’s striking, almost regal. There’s a strange flip in Felix’s chest as he takes Dimitri in, his eyes following the proud line of Dimitri’s shoulders to the crown of his head. Felix’s heart beats a little faster, and his cheeks burn at the realization. “Well, I have not had much chance to speak with you in the weeks since Gronder Field, and we will be marching again tomorrow. I thought I might find you here. Or rather, I thought you might be in the training grounds, and that I might need to interrupt you—”

Felix clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. “Did you really mean to find me to tell me that you found me?”

“What—No.” Dimitri’s chuckle is self-deprecating, and his posture slips. Felix bites back the urge to tell him to fix it and waits for Dimitri to continue. “I know you said that you do not wish for apologies, but please believe me when I say this is far from empty. Felix, I want to atone for that which I have taken from you—for the way in which my deeds—no, my _existence_ has left you bereft of a family.”

A chill drops down Felix’s spine, and he grits his teeth, fury simmering in his veins. He clenches his fists and glares up at Dimitri. “I’ve made my stance on this clear. It’s not your place to take ownership for what Glenn and my father did. Nor is it your duty to bear the weight of all of the dead.”

“Who can, if not I, the prince for whom they laid down their lives?” Dimitri seems to fold in on himself as he speaks, collapsing to the ground. A harsh shudder runs through him. “I must make amends. I must redeem myself and carry on their burdens, even if that should take me to my death. It is all I can do.”

Numbness tingles at Felix’s fingertips. A piece of him wants to reach out in sympathy, to fall to his own knees, to brush back the hair from where it has fallen in Dimitri’s face. It’s a weak, disgusting impulse, and Felix loathes it even as it expands through him.

Dimitri is wrong, has _been_ wrong. Though he’s no longer a vengeful beast, he still won’t see what it is he truly has to do.

“You can’t serve anyone if you let yourself die,” Felix says bitterly. “My father believed in you and believed in your future—as much as the old man was chained to the past. You owe it to Faerghus to be a good king to the living. Goddess knows we’ve waited long enough.”

Dimitri gazes into the ground, forlorn. “You, Dedue, the Professor… You ask so much of me. Even when I do all I can, it is not enough.” Another heaving breath wracks through Dimitri, and he buries his face in his hands, a growl escaping his lips. “It’s never been enough, no matter what I do. The voices of the dead… they will not be satisfied.”

Felix scoffs and drops to a knee. “You’re not wrong. Those voices can’t be satisfied—because they’re dead. There’s nothing they want anymore. But the living still have needs, and ones you can meet.”

Dimitri’s lone, watery eye—deep and piercing and so blue—looks balefully through gloved hands, fixing Felix in place. “You have always seen who I am, _what_ I am, Felix, so tell me: what can I do to serve the living and still honor the dead?”

Felix gives in to impulse and extends a hand to Dimitri, reaching forward to wipe away the tear that has found its way down Dimitri’s cheek. Dimitri recoils as though struck, but catches himself, and he stares at the hand as though transfixed, lost and unsure. It sets Felix’s teeth on edge and makes his chest burn to see Dimitri so defeated.

In his mind, Felix sees Cat back away, the same misgivings buried behind his eyes.

Five years of misery. Five years of suffering, alone. Dimitri has never spoken of what happened during that time. Felix searched and searched and _searched_ , but nothing ever came of it.

He should have been there from the beginning.

“Live, Dimitri,” Felix says, quiet. His hand hovers between them, a breath from Dimitri’s face. Felix can’t bring himself to touch his king again. “Live for yourself, as my father said. If you must live _for_ someone else, live for those who are still here. We’re still here, fighting beside you. You do not abandon the dead by choosing to honor the living.”

Felix had never been wrong in his disgust at Dimitri’s quest for vengeance. The seed of disquiet planted during the Western Rebellion had been well-earned. But Felix had nurtured it, let it fester.

Felix chose fear.

Dimitri blinks and carefully extends his own hand. It hangs beside Felix’s, unsure. This is Felix’s fault—this disbelief, this unwillingness to take his counsel despite their long history. He pulled away first, betrayed by what Dimitri had unearthed from within himself.

 _They are both the real me_.

“I do not know that I can honor that request, but… I will try. Till it burns me to the ground.” Dimitri says it with such conviction that Felix almost believes him, can almost let his anger go.

“That’s not what I said. You owe your service to your country, but you owe your life to no one but yourself.”

Dimitri nods, careful, digesting Felix’s words one at a time. “I—yes. I have to live if I am to see my goals through.”

Felix nods, satisfied. He grasps Dimitri’s hand and pulls him to his feet.

He chose fear, all those years ago. But no longer. Felix chooses faith.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter [@euphemeas](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


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